


Special

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: HaiKise Week, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 14:19:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4482515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their time is limited, so they might as well enjoy it</p>
            </blockquote>





	Special

The ticking of the clock on the wall is monotonous; it’s an amplified electronic version of the natural way things used to be, precise and marked and too loud to ignore, even when Shougo’s up to his elbows in the dirty dishwater that’s a hallmark of his second job at the restaurant. He used to wait tables but then got “promoted” up into the kitchen when the last dishwasher suddenly quit, where he gets paid more but it’s not proportional to the exhaustion and grossness after a long day of studying and working at the moving company. And then he has to come home and cook and his boyfriend might not even get home until much after that and they’ll crawl into bed without even speaking, without even attempting to talk or argue or kiss.

Shougo can’t say for certain that it’s all going to be worth it someday.

These jobs give him enough to get by and save a little, but not much, and putting them on his resume won’t help him get much of a better job. His grades are good enough, but not as good as they could be if he had more time—like the month before he took the second job and had a couple of hours in the evening before Ryouta was home, when he’d either get in some more studying or get out and play some street ball, maybe hustle for some extra cash and either way clear his mind. It’s funny how everything now has some sort of purpose, to keep him going financially or mentally—in middle and high school he’d been aimless and next to useless, but in less than a year since graduation he’s already feeling the change.

Ryouta hasn’t really changed, though. He’s matured a bit; he’s gotten yet another new look with new hair and makeup and he’s still juggling modeling and basketball and school (but it’s like he’s juggling five balls and three of them are basketballs because the others are fast losing priority) and it’s a foregone conclusion that he’ll enter the NBA this coming summer and be a high draft pick and by all accounts that’s what he should do. He’s already a world-class basketball player, and it was a bit of a shock even to Shougo that he’d chosen to stay the extra year when most of the good players in their year had already gone pro, either in Japan or overseas (and he’s the best of that lot).

It’s not that Shougo’s not still bitter about Ryouta upstaging him, about Ryouta being that much better, but he’s long since stopped trying to fight it. There’s nothing he can do, and he’s not one of those control-freak types who has to blame himself for everything and figure out a way to get on top. He’s not half so delusional or clever, anyway. And besides, saying that your spot was taken by probably the best basketball prospect the country’s ever seen isn’t all that shameful, just shitty luck, which Shougo’s already used to having in spades. But it’s come to rest between them, buried down below, and maybe they’re treading on top of it—they wouldn’t have started really making this into a dating thing instead of just fuck buddies or frenemies or whatever the hell they’d been in the brief while when there was nothing but uneasy tension between them, vitriol that was bitter the way only a nicely-roasted coffee is, smooth and not quite so objectionable anymore. But they had, and here they are—for how much longer?

Because the draft looms in the distance like a high sharp cliff, unavoidable; their relationship will be dashed on the rocks and there’s no way out. Ryouta’s going to go across an ocean to another continent and a very different time zone and Shougo will be stuck here in Japan working menial jobs and trying to get his degree so he can get by as a fucking salaryman or something, living the boring everyday dream. Probably alone. And okay, Ryouta wouldn’t have stuck with him for as long as he has if he’d found Shougo boring (he throws that word around like the worst kind of insult; there’s venom in his voice when he says it sometimes because to be boring is to be nearly less than human in Ryouta’s eyes). But if Shougo’s not boring now, he just might be headed there—the punk kid who acted out and wanted to be some kind of special snowflake just becoming ordinary and respectable, because we can’t all be special and cool the way Kise Ryouta is. And maybe Shougo had started out special; maybe he’d been special when they’d met, when his name had been tacked up with the Generation of Special Snowflakes or whatever—but maybe he’s like a meteor, flashing brightly and falling into the atmosphere as he crumbles into ordinary dust, and maybe Ryouta is still clinging onto what he once had been.

But Shougo hates talking shit about himself like that; it’s gross and a little bit too whiny for his taste, even if it’s true. But it’s up to Ryouta to judge how special he is, whether he’s enough—and maybe that won’t matter.

Special or no, there’s no way in hell Shougo’s going to be able to find a job in North America, or transfer to an ultra-expensive school there, or even get a visa. And Ryouta won’t stay—he can’t stay; he’s not going to limit himself to the boring Japanese collegiate basketball competition. And he shouldn’t. So there’s no way to compromise, no middle path (especially for stubborn bastards like the two of them). But Shougo supposes that from the beginning, he’s kind of known this was going to happen. From the beginning, he hadn’t expected this to last, because he’s learned not to expect anything, good or bad, to last all that long. It usually doesn’t, no matter what it is. So even though he won’t be ready to let go when the time comes, he’ll be able to force himself to do it and he’ll enjoy the good things before they dry up (although it’s hard to think of drying when his hands are so wet and soapy and his fingers have turned into raisins).

* * *

 

Ryouta’s there when he gets home, on the couch playing a video game.

“Better not have messed up my saved files, asshole!” Shougo calls.

“As if. You’re the one who messes up mine. I can’t believe you’ve been playing these games as long as you have with how terrible you are.”

Shougo jumps over the back of the couch and lands on top of him, grabbing the controller. In wrestling it away from Ryouta, half the buttons push down and the controller vibrates in protest. Shougo glares at Ryouta, and Ryouta shrugs.

“You could have just asked for it.”

“Like that ever works.”

Ryouta snorts. “You wouldn’t know, considering you never do.”

“Fine,” says Shougo, settling in against Ryouta’s chest and turning back to the game. “Wait, how the hell did you get to that level?”

“Talent,” says Ryouta.

Shougo smacks him with the controller. Ryouta’s arm curls around Shougo’s waist, and Shougo supposes he’ll allow it.


End file.
